


Paradox

by saturnalyia



Category: 2NE1, Big Bang (Band)
Genre: Ambiguous Relationships, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, Break Up, F/M, Friends With Benefits
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-23
Updated: 2020-04-23
Packaged: 2021-02-23 05:47:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23806747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saturnalyia/pseuds/saturnalyia
Summary: Jiyong finally gets out of the military. Chaerin comes to see him.
Relationships: Kwon Jiyong | G-Dragon/Lee Chaerin | CL
Comments: 4
Kudos: 24





	Paradox

**Author's Note:**

> this mentions seungri, though only in conversation. I didn't think it would be a realistic reunion between the two of them if they didn't talk about it, and in any case this is as much about jiyong Dealing With Himself as it is about him and chaerin. please take care

“I’m sorry about Seungri.”

Jiyong stares at Chaerin. She crosses her long legs and leans back into the sofa. “I’m not sorry  _ for  _ him,” she clarifies, arching an eyebrow. “He’s an asshole and he deserves every last bit of shit that’s been rained down upon him, and then some.”

Understatement of the century. Jiyong shrugs, and takes a swig from his can of beer. He doesn’t really want to talk about Seungri. It makes something inside him churn, hot and ugly and not like anything he wants to be. But if this is what is going to get Chaerin talking to him again, then maybe so be it.

“I’m just sorry,” she continues, eyes still trained on him, “that we let him go on the way he did for so long.”

Jiyong can’t quite put his finger on it, but something is different about Chaerin. She’s older now, of course — which should be obvious, in some senses, but in other senses it’s not. Because they’d been children when they’d met, and Jiyong couldn’t help but feel that all of his time as an idol had existed in a magical parallel universe where time was frozen. Except now Jiyong’s blinked and suddenly they’re all grown up and neither of them believe in magic anymore.

“It’s not your fault,” is what he says, because it’s true. Chaerin never really got along with Seungri, and in any case  _ she _ wasn’t his leader.

Chaerin makes a soft murmuring noise under her breath. She’s still looking at him in that way she does, like she’s peeling his skin right off him with only her eyes. And she doesn’t say anything, not a single word, but still Jiyong hears her meaning.

_ It’s not your fault either. _

(They’ve always understood each other. Even when it ruined them.)

Jiyong fiddles with the tab on his can of beer. Chaerin has a point, he supposes. They didn’t know how fucked up things were, none of them did. But he was Seungri’s leader, and he knew what Seungri was like. And maybe — maybe if he had tried harder to control him — maybe if he had forced him to talk to them — maybe —

“Don’t take the blame for it,” Chaerin says sharply, abruptly, slicing right through Jiyong’s spiral. Her gaze is a knife’s edge. “Don’t give him that. He doesn’t deserve it.”

Jiyong doesn’t understand what Chaerin wants from him. They hadn’t spoken for almost a year before he went into the military, and now suddenly she’s back here, stretched out across his sofa like a cat, as if all that space and silence hadn’t passed between them.

“I don’t want to talk about Seungri,” Jiyong blurts out. He knocks back the last of his beer, brings the can back down onto his kitchen counter more forcefully that he’d intended. Chaerin raises her eyebrows at him, but doesn’t say anything. And Jiyong doesn’t have anything to say, either — that’s a lie, he has plenty to say, but he won’t say it — so he just pushes at the tab of the beer can with his thumb, until it breaks off with a soft snap. 

“What do you want to talk about, then?”

Jiyong looks up, and Chaerin is standing across from him at his kitchen island, arms stretched out and both hands pressed flat into the marble countertop. Her nails are short, unpainted. He realises this with a start, and it makes him feel off-balance.

“Why are you here?” he asks, finally. His voice is steady, even though his heart is hammering  _ so  _ hard in his chest and it feels like he might burst an artery in his neck. He shoves his hands into the pockets of his joggers, clenches them into fists where Chaerin can’t see them.

She inhales slowly, exhales sharply — never taking her eyes off him. He gets the distinct sense of a lion about to pounce. And he’s the prey, hypnotised by that predatory gaze.

“Well,” she starts, tilting her head ever so slightly to one side, “why do you think?”

Jiyong parts his lips to reply, but no words come out.

  
  


* * *

  
  


They have sex, and Jiyong finds that even after three years he still remembers every curve and slope and dip of Chaerin’s body. 

Another thing he remembers, though he wishes he didn’t: the hollowness he feels when he wakes up, and Chaerin is gone.

  
  


* * *

  
  


Two days later, news drops that Chaerin has left YG Entertainment. 

(She still hasn’t responded to any of Jiyong’s texts.)

  
  


* * *

  
  


“Did you know?”

Dara hums thoughtfully under her breath, and takes a sip from her iced coffee. “Sort of,” she says, shrugging one shoulder. “I didn’t think it would happen this quickly.”

Jiyong doesn’t know why it matters. He hasn’t been Chaerin’s confidant in years. It isn’t surprising that she wouldn’t talk to him about her career. There’s no reason for him to care.

(Except there is, and he knows it and she knows it and it’s such a badly kept secret that Jiyong doesn’t think it even deserves to be called that.)

“Have you seen her?” Dara asks, when Jiyong doesn’t say anything. She leans her chin into the heel of one hand, stares across the table at him serenely. “Since you were discharged?”

“Uh.” Jiyong makes a non-committal sort of noise in the back of his throat. “Just once.”

Dara raises one eyebrow at him. “Right,” she says, dragging the word out. Her index finger taps against a cheek once, twice — three times. Jiyong wonders if Chaerin has been talking to Dara about him. He wishes she would, but somehow he doesn’t think she does. He doesn’t think she ever did.

“You should call her.”

Jiyong grimaces. “She isn’t even responding to my texts,” he says. “She doesn’t want to speak to me.”

Dara drums her fingers on the table. “That’s not true,” she continues, pressing her lips together like she has something she wants to say to him but can’t. And then: “You should call her.”

Jiyong shakes his head. “I’m not going to call her.”

“This is the problem with both of you.” Dara rolls her eyes and glances out the window at the street outside, misty with a light rain. “You’re both so stubborn.”

She doesn’t explain what she means. Jiyong doesn’t ask.

  
  


* * *

  
  


Jiyong does, at least, stay true to his word. He doesn’t call Chaerin, or even text her. He supposes Dara has a point about him being stubborn — though at the end of the day he’s always had less willpower than Chaerin.

For example: 

Chaerin drops one new song after another, out of the blue, without any warning. 

Jiyong tells himself he isn’t going to listen to any of it.

On Christmas Eve, Jiyong listens to all six songs in one sitting, curled up on his sofa — where Chaerin had been laid out beneath him just weeks ago — and clutching a mug of piping hot black coffee. 

After the album loops for the fifth time, Jiyong stands up, picks up his car keys, and walks out of his house.

  
  


* * *

  
  


When she opens the front door, she doesn’t even look surprised. Her hair falls loose around her shoulders, and she’s just in an oversized hoodie and sweatpants, but still she’s the most stunning being Jiyong thinks he’s ever seen.

“I didn’t realise you were in Seoul for Christmas,” she says, almost conversationally, except that she’s still standing in the doorway, one hand on the door frame and the other on the handle.

Jiyong ignores her statement. His lungs feel like they are being sucked into a black hole in the centre of his chest. “How many?” he asks, instead.

Chaerin narrows her eyes at him ever so slightly, then glances behind him into the corridor as if she’s afraid the paparazzi — or maybe just a prying neighbour — is going to leap out from behind the potted plant. She steps to the side and gestures for Jiyong to enter, which he does, albeit stiffly.

“Jiyong, why are you here?” she asks, once he’s in and she’s shut the door behind him. She folds her arms across her chest.

The thundering, roaring sound in Jiyong’s ears increases in volume, until it feels like he could scream at the top of his voice and still not overpower it. He clenches his jaw. When he speaks, he’s almost startled by how loudly his voice rings out.

“How many?” he repeats. “How many of the songs were about me?”

Surprise flashes across Chaerin’s face, but it’s quickly replaced by realisation. She purses her lips, shoulders tensing. “None of them,” she says, “and all of them. What does it matter?”

Jiyong huffs out an odd, scratchy growl in the back of his throat. “It matters,” he says insistently, though he has no idea where he’s going with this, “it matters because—”

Chaerin sighs, running one hand through her hair. It slips through her fingers like water. “Jiyong, go home,” she says, voice low and flat. She doesn’t seem to be angry. Just sad. And exhausted. “This is exactly what I was afraid would happen, this is why—”

“Why  _ what?” _ Jiyong interrupts hotly. It startles Chaerin, and he thinks, spitefully —  _ good.  _ He’s always been the one chasing after the hurricane that she is. Maybe it’s time for them to turn around. He digs his fingernails, short and stubby though they are, into the flesh of his palm. “Why you would never  _ talk  _ to me? Why you were incapable of saying anything  _ real?  _ Why you would always run from every single godforsaken conversation I try to start with you?”

“Yes,” snaps Chaerin. Her eyes flash dangerously, a challenge that Jiyong has missed and been glad to be rid off all at once. “Because all of that — the talking about feelings, the emotional vulnerability — that wasn’t us.”

Jiyong’s been here before. Three years ago, and all the times before that. He doesn’t know why he keeps coming back for more.

(He knows perfectly well why.)

Chaerin takes a step towards Jiyong. He bites down on the urge to step back. 

“We weren’t whatever you thought we were,” Chaerin says, more quietly now. “We weren’t whatever you wanted us to be.”

Jiyong’s skin feels flushed and he realises with a start that he’s angry. He’s really fucking fuming mad.

“You don’t get to say that and then turn around and write an album of love songs about me — about us,” Jiyong says, and Chaerin looks like she wants to argue but he just barrels on without stopping. His heart is pounding and it feels like his stomach has been caved in. “Because that’s what they are, whether you accept it or not — fucking  _ love songs. _ And maybe you were right about us being one thing, but when one of us goes and writes love songs about the other that makes it into another thing and it’s not  _ fair _ or  _ right  _ that I don’t know which is which.”

Chaerin just stands there, stares up at him, and for a moment suddenly the world goes entirely silent. Jiyong can no longer hear the roaring in his ears or the hammering of his heart. All that is left is him, and Chaerin, and an endless nothing else.

She’s the first one to break the silence, lips parting and then the faintest whisper of a word escaping her lips —  _ “Jiyong…” _

He feels like he’s watching himself from outside his own body. “No,” the Jiyong-body says, quietly, coldly. “No,” it repeats, stepping away from Chaerin. Moving towards the door. Opening it, backing through,  _ “No more.” _

Out in the corridor, Jiyong crashes back into his own body. The atmosphere reinflates, air rushing in to fill the vacuum. 

He can feel himself, still, breathing.

**Author's Note:**

> I started my kpop life as a blackjack & VIP and that will always be a part of me, so when jiyong was finally discharged, and then chaerin dropped a bunch of songs out of nowhere... I had a lot of Feelings!! I wrote this as a snippet of a larger piece and was intending to continue it, but looking at it now I think it is better as a standalone. hope u enjoyed!
> 
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/saturnalyia)


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